


Mine

by djarinbarnes



Series: Sebastian Stan [9]
Category: Endings Beginnings (2019)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, mentions of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djarinbarnes/pseuds/djarinbarnes
Relationships: Frank/Reader
Series: Sebastian Stan [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553680
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Mine

You’re sat at a small two-person table, sipping your bottled water, when he slips into the seat opposite of you. You raise your head, not surprised that he’s known where to find you, single look at your deathly pale face tells him all he needs to know.

His fingers skim over the sapphire that adorns your left finger as he takes your hand in his and leads you out to his Dodge, opens the passenger door and watches in silence as you smoothly slide into the seat. You drive in silence, the air thick with thoughts and feelings that neither will ever voice.

So close yet so separate. Fallen leaves litter the drive and crunch underfoot as you walk to the front door.

It seems like only yesterday that you had last walked through the door into the home you had once shared, but in truth it has been over a year since your feet have last trod the well-known floor. You follow him into the living room and sinks into one end of the sofa.

The room hasn’t changed in the time that has passed, still warmly painted in shades of pale orange and yellow, he’d laughed at the colors you had chosen but had appreciated the effect as much as you had.

The lighting is dim adding to the air of warm sanctuary, in all your life you’ve never found anywhere you’ve found safer than wrapped in his strong embrace watching the fire dance in the fireplace.

He crosses to the drinks cabinet and without asking fixes your drink the same way he had many times before. He takes his vodka neat without ice; you take yours with lemonade with a dash of lime cordial.

You take the glass he offers and sips as he sits beside you, close enough that you could reach out and touch him, but still far enough away to be separate.

The heat from the fire is creeping around the room, seeping into your bones and easing the chill that surrounds your heart.

The gas flames licking over the simulated coals are reflected in your eyes. You place the glass on the floor and raises your head, feeling his eyes burning intensely into your neck. Your eyes met his and are caught and held by kyanite orbs, sapphire and every shade in-between.

"Do you want to tell me?"

It’s the first thing either of you has said. His voice is low and gravely with the same strong masculine edge that had entranced you from the first time you’d heard it, it seems so long ago now.

Your gaze drops and focuses on your hands, he slides close and raises your chin with an index finger the pad of his thumb running over the bruise that is already starting to form on your cheek, stroking the angry red mark.

A tremor runs through you as pain sears your flesh, but you can't bring yourself to turn away from his caress. Your eyes raise to his, the warmth swimming with unshed tears that are less to do with the pain in your body and more strongly related to the storm raging within your tormented psyche.

You think you must’ve wanted to tell him, for you find the words falling from your mouth.

You tell him of the demands your manager is making on you, the pressure you’re being put under to produce your fourth album, and fatigue of the constant touring and live performing.

Finely you tell him of the augments you have to go home to when you end up working late at the studio, arguments that would degenerate from verbal to physical and leave your body burning and bruised.

Tells him of the man you no longer stand to have touch you but cannot leave for fear of what he might do. When at last you wind down your feet are curled beneath you and you’re clutching a throw pillow to your chest.

His eyes, when you dare look at him, are dark seeming to have turned almost black by the mixture of fury, pain and desire that swirls in their kyanite depths.

He reaches out and after taking the pillow from your grasp, he pulls you close, he holds you gently as if you were a fragile porcelain doll, chipped and broken with a hairline crack running across your face.

You sit in silence for a long time, until your tears have dried to silky softness on your cheeks, the only sound the ticking of the clock calving eternity in to passing seconds.

"Thank you, Frank."

You whisper, unwinding your legs and making to stand. He takes your hand, his deep blue eyes still steady on your face, you offer him a won smile and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

Without hesitation he draws you in, before you can pull back, he’s returning your cheek kiss, then another, then his lips are sliding to your neck, your ear and finally your mouth.

You smell the familiar scent of sandalwood and forest, a scent you know as well as your own flesh and a million images burst in your brain. You feel the arms and chest you have known for years and that had once held only you.

You love making love with him, you always have.

From that first earthquake magic in an air-conditioned hotel room to the later years when it became slower, deeper, a melody you knew as well as that of your own soul.

Making love with Frank is all encompassing, pure sensation and total detachment. You need that now.

You need the familiar and comforting. The shattering of your consciousness and the stopping of time.

You think of trapped birds singing in cages, back hands stinging your skin, of loneliness and distance.

Then his hand slides to your breast and you think of nothing else.

In the flash of waking for a terrifying instant you don’t remember him, caught the limbo where dreams still cling to you, savior and tormentor are mixed and entwined.

But a moment later you recognize who he is, when he pulls you back towards him, strokes your hair, licks the shell of your ear and neck, then kisses your breasts and belly.

Finally, feeling him deep inside of you, you know he has made love to you many times before and dreads the thought of never feeling again in your entire life the way you feel with him.

All the while he is drinking you in, you feel yourself streaming down a corridor into a familiar place that is strange only because you’ve not visited there in so long a time.

Fear and euphoria crash and whirl together in a maelstrom that drives all reason from you as you become lost the force that is being loved by him.

No face reminiscent of any other, but the scents, the textures, the music were all carrying you across.

The room is a kingdom, the inside of a cup, the night pouring in tasting of mint. A flashback of a flashback: a swing and a child's foot, the space existed, in the same instant, in his fingers, in the air, in your toes, pressing like pebbles into his thighs. In the dark, you sense light.

When you wake next, you still lay entangled together, the blanket from the back of the couch has been pulled down to cover your bare bodies.

You lie atop him and looking down is mesmerized by the swallowing orbs the are intently watching you. For a moment you can’t place the sound that has awoken you until it comes again, the mechanical cheeping of her phone.

Your bag still sits propped against the side of the couch where you had placed it many hours before. Reaching for it you pull out the source of the disturbance, your eyes filling with distress as the name displayed on the screen registers with your still sleep addled brain.

Answering, you murmur a greeting and perhaps in some childish attempt to distance the voice on the other end of the line with the man lying beneath you, you sit up, the blanket rising with you. Your eyes fly wide and you bite down hard on your lip to keep a moan from escaping your throat, in rising so suddenly the angle of his penetration was abruptly changed sending a jot of pleasure through your body.

You turn your head and presses the phone close to your ear, yet still every word is carried to him in the still warm air. The tone is one of annoyance and is edged with steel; the words are barked questions that make his jaw clench in anger as he grinds his teeth together.

Your replies are stilted, and uncertainty fills your eyes making the dark pools seem deep enough to drown in. You turn your head further, unable to look at him while you lie to the disembodied voice, that demands of you in harsh and uncaring tones that split the air.

He feels his rage getting the better of him as he listens to the words that are dropping from your lips, you mumble down the phone that you’re fine and once again you have to bite hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

You look down at him, a single crystalline tear rolling down your cheek as your body shakes in the aftermath of the sudden pain. His eyes are not upon your face but upon his hand that is now stroking the vivid bruise that spreads across your ribs.

A bruise on which his fingers pressed a moment before, causing your stifled cry and confirming his suspicion of cracked ribs. Your free hand takes his, halting its movement, as your eyes silently beg him for something you too are unsure of.

"When are you coming home?"

The words are cold, the tone cruel and harsh, they carry clearly to him as you bite your already bleeding lip, the tears filling your eyes making them seem double their normal size.

He takes a deep breath and makes a split-second decision that he knows, no matter the outcome will change his life forever. Your hand is shaking as he gently takes the phone from you, eyes that could have read words painted on your soul never leaving your face.

"She is home."

Ending the call, he drops it to the floor, ignoring it when it almost instantly begins to ring again. Reaching out, he brushes the fallen tears from your face, watches as your expression changes from fear, to bewilderment, and then confusion is staring back at him from your face.

Wide eyes beg an unvoiced question, as you try to comprehend what is happening. He dips his head slightly in confirmation of what he knows you’re thinking and soft smile tugs at the edge of his mouth.

He caresses your face once more before pulling you down to him and gently kisses your lips tasting the salt of your tears in the corners of your mouth as he deftly guides your body into a better position.

A single, possessive thought runs through his mind.

_Mine_.


End file.
